


They'd Never Know

by nverland



Category: Actor RPF, The Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 09:27:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11848722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nverland/pseuds/nverland
Summary: Orlando’s been gone, Viggo’s been alone and empty without him.  Depression and drugs are a bad combination.Warning-Character deaths, drug use, violenceFirst posted to LiveJournal 10/2009





	They'd Never Know

They'd Never Know  
Author: Carol  
Rating: NC17  
Pairing: Viggo/Orlando  
Disclaimer: I don't know, nor own anyone depicted in this story. This is fiction, meant to harm no one, for entertainment only. It is a creation of my own curved little mind  
Beta: The wonderful ~N, who has the patience of Job, and takes care of these things for me when I need her. Thank you.  
A/N: This is not a pretty story. Feedback is appreciated, but please be gentle. READ THE WARNINGS!  
Summary: Orlando’s been gone, Viggo’s been alone and empty without him. Depression and drugs are a bad combination.  
Warning-Character deaths, drug use, violence  
First posted to LiveJournal 10/2009

 

Pulling into the driveway, he sighed. It felt so good to be home again, even if it meant the long drive from the airport after an even longer flight to get here. Noticing all the lights in the house were out, Orlando wondered if Viggo was out visiting his brother, or if he was in bed this early. It was only just after 10:00, and normally Viggo was up until the early hours of the morning, especially when he was staying in Idaho.

Gathering his things, Orlando crawled out of the car, happy for the chance to stretch, and headed into the darkened house. Kicking off his shoes, he flicked on a lamp and started across the living room, heading for the stairs that led up to the second floor and their bedroom. He got partway through the room when he noticed Viggo curled up in the corner of the sofa. Dropping his bag out of the path, he walked over, kneeling beside his sleeping lover. Softly running his fingers across Viggo’s face, brushing the shaggy hair away from his eyes, he gently called him awake.

“Vig, baby, wake up. Come on, love, let’s get you to bed.”

Viggo opened his eyes and peered up at Orlando’s face. “What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t due for a few days yet.”

“I told you I’d be here Friday, and that’s today, love. You been too busy to keep track of the days? Come on,” Orlando said, pulling Viggo to his feet and into his arms, “let’s get you upstairs and into bed.”

Viggo leaned on Orlando, seeming to be mostly still asleep, as they climbed the stairs. Orlando started to pull Viggo’s clothing off, first grabbing his shirt, but Viggo knocked his hands away, insisting he could take care of himself. Dropping his jeans and boxers to the floor, Viggo crawled into bed, still in the long-sleeved tee-shirt, and rolling onto his side. Orlando watched, perplexed. This just was not like Viggo. Normally he was thrilled to see Orlando when he came home, and their reunions were always filled with chatter and touching and kisses.

‘Maybe he’s just coming down with something,” Orlando thought.

Stripping off his own clothing, Orlando crawled into bed behind Viggo, spooning against his back and wrapping his arms around the man he loved. It just felt so good to be home, to have Viggo back against him again. Even if he was acting strange.

Viggo pressed back into the welcome heat of Orlando’s body. “Missed you,” he mumbled.

“Missed you, too,” Orlando responded, kissing the back of Viggo’s head, nuzzling into his hair.

Viggo rubbed his butt back against Orlando, enjoying the press of hard flesh against his backside. “Fuck me,” he mumbled, still sounding half-asleep.

“You’re not even awake.”

“I’m awake enough, and I missed you,” Viggo said, reaching to fumble in the night stand for lube, handing it over his shoulder to Orlando. “Here, you’re going to need this.”

Grinning to himself, Orlando took the bottle from Viggo and flipped open the cap. “So, no slow build-up? No kisses and touches? Just fuck you?” he asked as he drizzled the cold gel onto his fingers.

Viggo shook his head slightly as Orlando ran a hand gently down his back. Moving his slickened fingers between Viggo’s lower cheeks he gently circled his opening before sliding a finger into the tight hole. Viggo groaned, pushing back onto the questing digit. Orlando worked slowly, loosening the muscle before adding a second finger. After only a few seconds, Viggo told him “Enough”. Feeling almost as curious about Viggo’s actions as he felt aroused by the prospect of being buried in his lover, Orlando pulled his fingers from Viggo’s body and coated his throbbing erection with the remains of the lube on his hand. Carefully lining himself up, he pressed slowly into Viggo’s warm body. Viggo was unusually still, only making small noises and not really moving, not like he normally did when Orlando made love to him. “Strange” thought Orlando, but then he was caught up in the heat of Viggo, and the pressure on his cock, and the feeling that something wasn’t quite right left him, and all he could think of was moving in that tight sheath. And after being apart for so long, it wasn’t taking Orlando very long to feel that tightening in his balls, the pooling in his groin, and without much warning, he came, coating Viggo’s insides. Gasping for breath, Orlando reached around to finish Viggo, only to grab limp flesh. Viggo pulled away slightly, causing Orlando to slip from his body.

“Vig?” He started to ask, only to be cut off.

“S’okay. Just tired,” Viggo mumbled, still not turning to face Orlando. “Guess I just wasn’t as up to it as I thought I was.”

“Baby, is everything all right? I thought this was what you wanted?”

“It’s fine, Orlando, I’m just tired. Maybe it’ll be better in the morning.” And he moved further across the bed, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders.

Orlando got up, worry written on his face, padding to the bathroom and getting a warm cloth to clean them both up with. When he reached to touch Viggo, though, he pulled away even further. Orlando frowned, tossing the cloth back towards the bathroom, and crawled back into bed. He fell asleep facing his lovers back, exhausted from the trip and the activity when he got home. He planned on getting to whatever the problem was the next morning.

But when he awoke the next day, it was to an empty bed. Viggo was already up and locked in his studio. Orlando showered, dressed and went in the kitchen. Getting a cup of tea, he wandered down the hall and tried the door, only to find that Viggo had locked himself in. There was loud music throbbing and he had to pound to get Viggo to answer. When he opened the door, it was only a crack. His hair wasn’t brushed, he hadn’t shaved in what looked like several days, and he was wearing the same long sleeved black shirt he had on in bed last night.

“Baby, you weren’t there when I woke up. I was worried. Is everything okay, can I come in?”

“Everything’s fine, I’m working on something and didn’t want to bother you,” Viggo said, starting to close the door in Orlando’s face.

Orlando tried blocking the door, only to have it slammed into his body as he tried to push in. He jumped back, a look of shock crossing his face. Viggo never acted like that. Orlando had always been welcome in the studio to watch Viggo work. And Viggo was always so happy to have him home, it wasn’t normal to wake up without Viggo curled around him, either. Something was seriously wrong, but maybe now was not the time to press the issue. He’d wait until later, when Viggo came out to eat, and try talking to him then.

But Viggo didn’t come out to eat. Lunch came and went, and still Viggo stayed locked in the studio, the loud noise pounding through the walls. By midafternoon, Orlando was more concerned than ever. He called Henry, hoping for some insight, but Henry said that he hadn’t seen Viggo in over a week. Last time he was there they had fought, and Viggo told him to get out and stay out. He also said that Viggo had looked like hell, and that none of the people they knew had talked to him in weeks either. Orlando hung up after thanking Henry, offering a promise to call him when he had worked out what was going on, and went to look for the spare keys to the studio. Heading down the hall, key in hand, Orlando was surprised by Viggo coming out of the room, silence finally filling the house.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing Orlando? Going to bother me after I made it clear to leave me alone,” Viggo growled, glaring at the key in Orlando’s hand.

“I was getting worried, you aren’t acting like yourself. I wanted to make sure you were all right,” Orlando answered, backing up a few steps at the look in Viggo’s eyes.

Viggo grabbed the key and flung it across the room. Grabbing the front of Orlando’s shirt, he shook the younger man. “I told you to leave me alone. Why the hell can’t you listen to me?” he yelled, slapping Orlando across the face.

Letting go of the shocked man, Viggo stomped up the stairs to the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. Orlando stood in shock, his hand softly touching the reddened cheek. He slumped to the floor, tears welling in his dark eyes. Something was horribly wrong. He sat there, back pressed to the wall, for what seemed hours. Finally, he got to his feet and went in search of his shoes and car keys. Remembering he’d left the keys in the bedroom, he crept up the stairs. He needed to get out of the house for a while, get some air and think.

Opening the door, he found Viggo sitting against the headboard, rocking back and forth. The look on his face when he looked at Orlando broke the young man’s heart. Orlando carefully moved to the side of the bed, and Viggo threw himself in Orlando’s arms, sobbing.

“I’m so sorry angel. I don’t know what came over me. Did I hurt you?” he asked lifting his tear stained face to check, finding a bruise starting on Orlando’s cheek. “Oh, god, baby, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed.

Orlando wrapped his arms around Viggo and tried to sooth him. He made clucking and shushing noise, rocked him and stroked his hair. Finally, Viggo calmed down enough to loosen the death grip he had on Orlando and let him sit down on the bed. Viggo curled himself against Orlando’s side, almost trying to crawl into the man’s skin.

“Let me love you, angel. Let me make this better. Please? I need you so badly, and I want to show you how much I love you,” he pleaded.

Orlando continued to stroke Viggo’s hair and to let his hand wander down his back, feeling the tension there. Viggo lifted his face, capturing Orlando’s lips in a gentle kiss. Slowly, he unwound himself and wrapped his arms around Orlando, gently lowering him to the bed. As Viggo made slow, gentle, careful love to Orlando, kissing and caressing every inch of flesh he could touch, Orlando thought maybe it was just that Viggo hadn’t been feeling well and had been locked up alone in the house by himself too long. As Viggo entered Orlando’s body and rocked them slowly to completion, all thoughts of problems left Orlando’s mind. They fell asleep, locked in each other's arms, a feeling that things were getting back to normal in Orlando’s mind.

Orlando awoke several hours later, again to an empty bed and the sound of music coming from downstairs. This time it was calmer music, but still so loud the windows almost rattled. Getting up and pulling his jeans back on, he headed down the stairs to see why Viggo was up again after so little sleep.

Opening the door to the studio, he stopped dead in his tracks, mouth falling open. He watched in horror as Viggo finished tying off his arm and lifted the needle that sat on the workbench. Viggo heard the gasp from the doorway, and keeping what eye contact he could, injected the fluid into his arm. Pulling the needle out, he popped the strap from his arm and sighed as the drugs hit his system.

“What are you doing in here, Orlando? I told you to keep out.”

“I was worried when you were gone and heard the music,” Orlando stammered, unsure of what to say or do. The look of menace in Viggo’s eyes scared him more than the drug paraphernalia scattered about his work table. “What’s going on, Viggo?” he asked in a tremulous voice, starting to back out of the room.

Viggo was on his feet, coming at him with such a look of rage that Orlando was frightened. This wasn't like Viggo. Viggo had never raised his voice, never hurt him before. He turned to flee down the hall, only to have Viggo grab his arm and drag him back into the studio. Throwing Orlando against the wall by the door, Viggo hit him.

“I told you to leave me alone and stay out of here. But you couldn’t listen to me. You never listen to me, you're never here to listen to me anymore,” he growled, hitting Orlando again.

Orlando cringed away, tried to cover his face with his arms and slump down to the floor. Maybe if he could roll into a ball, Viggo couldn’t hurt him as badly. But it didn’t work that way. Every time he tried to crouch down, Viggo grabbed his hair and pulled him back up, beating at him with his fists, until blood was pouring from the cuts on Orlando’s face. The sight of the blood seemed to enrage Viggo further, and his assault increased until Orlando slumped to the floor, barely conscious. This only gave Viggo a chance to kick at him, connecting with his ribs and making him gasp. Orlando tried begging, pleading with Viggo to stop, that he was hurt, to make Viggo see what he was doing. But it all fell on deaf ears. Viggo’s rage was all consuming. He fell to his knees, and resumed pummeling Orlando’s body with his fists, finally gripping him around the throat and pressing as hard as he could, screaming at him to shut up and take it like a man. It didn’t take long for Orlando to quit struggling and go slack in Viggo’s hands, his head lolling back and eyes vacant.

Viggo finally let go and set back on his heels, brushing the shaggy hair from his eyes. He glared at Orlando, disgusted by what he saw as weakness. He got to his feet and left the room, going into the small bathroom in the back corner. Washing his hands and face, removing all traces of blood, he finally looked up into the mirror as he dried off. The face looking back at him was almost a stranger, he realized with a shock. The drugs were almost gone from his system now, working out much faster because of the adrenaline that had rushed through his system while he attacked Orlando. He almost didn’t recognize the gaunt, almost starved face, the sunken eyes and sallow skin. Raising a hand to his cheek, he found a small speck of blood still there.

Realization of what he’d done hit him like a fist in his gut. He stumbled out of the room and cast a wary look to where Orlando lay on the floor in a puddle of blood. Horror creeping into his eyes, Viggo rushed to kneel beside the man he loved. Cradling Orlando in his arms, he begged him to open his eyes, to say something. But he knew in his heart, it was too late. Orlando wasn’t in there anymore. Viggo sat and rocked the still form, his world shattered. And for what, he thought, for a quick escape from his loneliness? He’d lost the most important thing in the world.

He kept talking to the still form, telling Orlando how sorry he was, how much he loved him, begging any god that would listen to let this not be real. But he knew it was, that nothing was going to bring Orlando back. Carefully laying Orlando on the floor, Viggo got up and went to the bench again. He wrote a short note for Henry, telling him how much he loved his son, how proud he had always been of him, and how sorry he was for everything that had happened. Setting the note out on the entry hall table where he was sure it would be found, Viggo went back to the studio. Looking at the things laying across the bench, he set about loading another needle. But this one was stronger than normal. Much stronger. Taking his setup over to where Orlando lay on the floor, Viggo tied off and slipped the needle into his vein. Pressing the plunger, he watched as the tube emptied into his body. Laying down next to Orlando, placing his head on the still chest, he released the strap, letting the overly large dose of drugs into his system. Wrapping an arm around the cold body, he took one last deep breath as he followed Orlando into death.

The next day, the phone rang constantly without any answer, only the answering machine to pick up. Feeling frustrated that no one was answering, Henry grabbed the keys and drove to his fathers to find out what was going on. He knew that his dad and Orlando should still be there, they never left the house for anything the first few days Orlando was home. Opening the front door and letting himself in, Henry yelled to let them know he was there. He hated walking in on them. Dropping his keys into the bowl by the door, he saw the slip of paper with his name on it. Reading through the scrawled words, a sense of dread crept up his spine. The house was too quiet, and the cars were still in the drive. Something was wrong, very wrong.

Henry went in search of the missing men. His first thought was they might be asleep still and not heard the phone. With as worn out and tired as his dad had been lately, maybe he was finally getting some needed rest. But the door to the bedroom was open, and although the bed was messed up, and you could smell the men in the room, it was empty. Which made Henry worry more. Thinking maybe they were in the back yard, he went downstairs and headed down the hallway past his dad’s studio, to check outside. But as he passed he noticed the door ajar and the lights on.

Slowly, and with much dread, he pushed the door the rest of the way open. The first thing he saw was the mess everywhere. It wasn’t like Viggo to leave the studio like that. He was always so careful of keeping it mostly clean. As he stepped into the room, his toe caught on something and tripped him. Stumbling into the room, he looked to see what he’d tripped over. The sight in front of him made him go ashen and a scream to escape his trembling lips.

Henry slumped to the floor, his eyes stuck on the sight of his father, obviously dead, laying on Orlando, who was also gone. With shaking hands, Henry pulled his phone out of his pocket. Shaking and trying hard to keep it together long enough to make a call, he pressed the number for his mother. At the sound of her voice, Henry broke down sobbing. After several tries, he was finally able to tell her where he was and what was wrong. She told him to get out of the room and to wait for her in the living room, she’d be right there. Hanging up, she called the police and told them what little she knew and went to take care of her son. The police got to the house shortly after she did. She was sitting on the sofa, waiting for them, trying to quiet the devastated boy in her arms.

The investigation didn’t take long. It was so obvious what had happened. From the drugs laying about, they knew that something had triggered Viggo to attack Orlando, and then the remorse caused him to kill himself. But they’d never know why Viggo had turned to drugs, or what had set him off that day. All they’d ever know was that two beautiful, intelligent, wonderful men were gone. And no one’s life would ever be the same again.

~end


End file.
